It’s the strangest mix of delight and fear, being with Weston. My heart pounds all morning on Sunday, thinking he might tell me that we can’t go back to New York—like this might all be some kind of elaborate ploy to get me somewhere far from the city when the clock runs out.

I spend my moments alternating between feeling like I have vertigo, and feeling like I’m flying.

But we board his private plane before noon, landing in New York with plenty of time for me to make it to class and study group.

I don’t know how the hell I’m going to manage to wrench my hand away from his, and when Dave pulls the car up to the curb at Anderson, I actually can’t bring myself to do it.

Weston smiles at me and brings my hand to his lips, kissing every one of my knuckles before wrapping both hands around my neck, pulling me in for a kiss so long and deep that all the traffic noises fade away. Everything but the clean, pure taste of Weston and the heat of his body melting into the hazy background.

Before I’m ready—far before I’m ready—he pulls back, a grin on his face. “Go to class. This is why we left Maui, remember?”

“I remember.” I straighten my back. I got a little taste of paradise over the weekend, but most of it is sitting right here in front of me. And the real responsibilities that I can’t let slide—not even for one more day—are in the building behind me.

I give him a quick kiss on the cheek, hitch my bag over my shoulder, and open the door to the Town Car. The midday sun bakes the sidewalk, and the heat wraps itself around my legs the moment I stand up.

My phone rings in my bag, the ringtone so loud and insistent that I jump. “What the—” My phone is almost always on silent, so the loudest it ever gets is a vibrating buzz. Somewhere between Maui and here, I must have bumped the switch.

My heart drops to the sidewalk and cracks like an egg when I see the number on the Caller ID.

“Hello?” I turn on instinct back toward the Town Car.

“Juliet, this is Darla.”

“Hi, Darla. What’s going on?”

“I wanted to let you know that your father has decided to leave Overbrook. He’s apparently arranged for a transfer to Havenhill, which is a facility—”

Holy shit. “I know about Havenhill.” I swallow hard. I looked at Havenhill because it was closer to Lansing, and the place was a nightmare. “Darla, you can’t let him do that.”

She sighs. “It’s out of my hands, unfortunately. His primary care doctor approved the transfer.”

It’s then that I notice Weston’s eyes on me, locked on my face, his body turned toward the open car door, every muscle tensed.

“I’ll be right there.”

I snap the phone shut and throw myself back into the car. “I need to go to Overbrook.”

Weston nods at Dave in the rearview mirror. As we pull back out into traffic, Weston’s phone starts to ring. 

It’s a conversation that sends chills down my spine, though in my frenzied state I can’t figure out exactly why. The only thing that’s abundantly clear is that it’s someone calling him from Overbrook.

It sounds like the billing department.

“That’s not—” The woman’s voice on the other end of the line is powerfully shrill—it must be Evangeline, my personal nightmare. Weston narrows his eyes, letting her go on for at least thirty seconds before he finally cuts her off. “I’ll be in the building in person in less than an hour. I’m happy to continue this discussion at that time.” He gives the phone a sidelong look before he tucks it into the armrest.

“What did she want?”

Weston shakes his head, an amused grin crossing his face. “To give me my money back.” He takes my hand and turns toward me, his green eyes steady on mine. “That almost never happens to me.”

“Give you your money—oh.” Naturally. If my dad is leaving Overbrook’s care—which he should not—then Weston’s generous payment would need to be returned. My stomach curdles at the thought of having to discuss this with him a second time.

“It’s nothing, Juliet,” he says softly. “I’ll send it anywhere you need.”

“I don’t,” I snap. 

Weston’s hand tightens on mine. “It’s already been given—it’s not—”

“We don’t have to do this right now.” My voice is tight, my heart beating furiously in my chest.

“I don’t know why you’re—” He cuts himself off, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “You’re right. We don’t need to discuss any of this right now.”

The words are bottled up in my chest. If we’re really going to do this—and judging by that moment in the middle of the night, out in the sweet Hawaiian air, we are—then I don’t want it to start out with more debt. I can’t let that happen.

But the pounding anger in my head won’t relent enough for me to find the words to tell Weston that without sounding like an ungrateful asshole. All of it is compounded by the guilt that’s bubbling in my stomach.

None of this would be happening if I’d stayed away from Weston Grant in the first place—if I’d done my job, if I’d gone to class, if I’d kept my chin up and powered through the difficult parts. Now I’m tangled up in a financial web that snared my father and drove his temper to the boiling point.

I press my lips together and stare out the window, Weston’s hand firmly in mine, like he wants to prove he won’t let go because of a bump in the road.

All the way to Overbrook, there’s a thought on a loop in my mind:

Please don’t let this get any worse. Please don’t let this get any worse. Please...